


The Skin You're In

by cymbalism



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/pseuds/cymbalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the argument with Charles, Raven goes to bed angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skin You're In

**Author's Note:**

> This is either pretty okay, or extremely problematic (a.k.a, I wrote fic with a girl in it). References to slightly douchey Charles and flexibly preferenced Erik (you know, like in canon). This is another deleted scene, of sorts.

After the argument with Charles, Raven goes to bed angry. She scrubs her teeth, taking out her aggression on her unsuspecting, innocent gums, and flops into bed still wound tight and not at all tired. Other than her stunt with Erik earlier, it’s her first time in bed without anything separating sheets from skin. Honestly, it feels kind of weird.

The sheets press on her belly and thighs, heavy from the blanket and coverlet above. She swishes her legs, feeling the cool of the fabric against her calves.

 _Have you ever looked at a tiger and thought you ought to cover it up?_

Raven wrestles her pillows into better position with a sigh. It seems so easy when you put it that way—she should’ve used that line on Charles. But that’s the thing about Erik, Raven’s learned. He makes everything looks easy. She sneaks a hand out of the sheets, running her fingertips over her lips.

Erik’s kiss wasn’t a promise but it wasn’t exactly chaste, either. She’s seen the looks Erik and Charles exchange—they practically drip with _we’re totally doing it_ —so she has no illusions of picket fences and forever, here. That was never going to be her world and she wouldn’t want it anyway, not now. But Erik might as well be made of sex and Raven’s not sorry she made a play. And anyway, he started it.

She wonders if he’ll tell Charles.

Raven tucks her arms under the covers too, combing them along the cotton. She cups her hands on her hips, mentally measuring the fit of her palms to her torso, the soft give of her sides before she hits hip bone. She likes that Erik likes this shape, this color, even if his appreciation is mostly for what they represent. She likes the idea that someone might look up to her for what she is, might think of her as a powerful example, rather than tell her that her state of existence _doesn’t bear thinking about_.

She silently tells Charles to stuff it and half hopes he actually hears her.

Charles isn’t always an overprotective, patronizing prick, but she hates it when he plays the brother-knows-best card. After all, _sister_ is Charles’s term. Raven’s always had more imagination than that.

And she still can’t sleep.

She runs her fingers over the triangle of patterning that begins below her navel. The patches of thick crosshatched skin are no less sensitive than anywhere else. In fact, Raven thinks the opposite may be true, under the right circumstances, especially given the placement of the pattern around her body, over her breasts and between her thighs—where other women have responsive, pink patches. But she’s never tested the theory. The handful of times she’s had sex she was in other forms, never in her own skin.

 _If you’re using half your concentration to look normal, then you’re only half paying attention to whatever else you’re doing._

Erik’s right. It would be better like this. And she knows he would have her like this.

Oh, and it’s in her mind’s eye now. The image of what that might be like—Erik’s narrow hips between her open thighs, his tight skin shifting over smooth muscle above her. Because she’d want him on top, she’d want him in her, and she’d want him to come for her, because of her.

She bites her lip.

The idea is too good. Too real. And she likes it too much to let it go. Raven holds her hands very still on her belly, listening to the sounds of the slumbering mansion, considering. She can feel the hot drop of ready moisture caught against her body. She probably shouldn’t do this, she thinks. But . . . Raven dips a finger past the patterned patch to touch the smooth flesh below and loses her breath.

She closes her eyes. Slipping two fingers low, she coaxes more from her body, slicking the wetness up to where she wants it. She pictures Erik with his mouth on her, tongue working at her as she urges him on. And, she imagines, just as she felt that thrill to come, just as her body began to beg for him, he’d slide in. He’d slide inside her with a whisper of something sharp and dirty and bury his face in her neck.

Raven pushes in small circles and stifles a moan. “Yes,” she mouths. And then, to make it more real, “Erik— Yes.”

Unbidden, Charles is there, behind her. Holding her back as he always does—no, supporting her. She leans back against his chest and he wraps a firm forearm beneath her breasts. The angle doesn’t make sense for Erik to still be—it doesn’t matter. Her mind makes it work. She plunges two fingers down, seeking more moisture and, oh, Erik. Erik fucking her with deep thrusts, mouth open, breathing hard. In her imagination and here, in her bed, she spreads her knees.

And then, because she can, because she’d want it all, Charles would curve a finger into her, just _there_ , just enough to—oh. Oh, fuck. Raven twists against her sheets.

She squeezes her thighs together again because she’s close. Her hips lift. Charles nuzzles her ear, keeps wet pressure on that small brilliant spot and Erik, Erik leans in. He leans in and Charles’s free hand comes up to Erik’s jaw. Their mouths meet over her—Erik in her, Charles touching her—

Raven comes, hard.

Warmth flushes through her as she writhes into her pillows. She stops her fingers, all sensation suddenly overwhelming, and feels her body pulses against them.

When it’s over, Raven lets out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding, and then she laughs.

It’s already better like this.

  
**_ _ _ _**   


One shaky trip to get clean and back, Raven burrows deep into bed, tired this time. And in her mind’s eye as she slips to sleep, Charles smiles wickedly at Erik.


End file.
